Sleepless
by Serephy
Summary: His voice quivered behind the microphone. It was like the Ronnie Radke squeak, the Matthew Bellamy inhale. Shisui discovered that he loved it, the vulnerability, the shakiness of the scream. ShiIta, AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Here's a tiny two-shot mostly meant to exercise my writing. Itachi would look good in a hard rock band, yes? I'll finish it up another night, loves._

* * *

_**Sleepless**_

His voice quivered behind the microphone. It was like the Ronnie Radke squeak, the Matthew Bellamy inhale. Shisui discovered that he loved it, the vulnerability, the shakiness of the scream. He stood on his toes in the living room crowded with buzzed young adults, littered with amplifier wires, to sneak a view of the lead singer.

He, long-haired, sported a black muscle shirt with vague lyrics spray painted in white on it. No one could criticize him for wearing eyeliner, because he rocked the sweaty, smudged look better than any girl Shisui had the pleasure of meeting. His arms were thin, but showed strength as he grasped the microphone and screamed his soul out.

Shisui couldn't take his eyes off him. Perhaps this is how girls feel at a One Direction concert? Absolutely glued, needing to take multiple photos instead of enjoying the moment? He ripped his eyes off – it hurt like duct tape – and jostled his way deeper into the crowd, pushing another excited guy, starting a mosh pit, the usual.

The guitars took over for the finale, and Shisui stole a final glance at the stage. The lead's hair was swept across his face as he bent over, rocking his head up and down to the beat of the drums. When the last, long chord faded out, he stood straight, index finger pointing up, and a smile gracing his features.

"Again, guys, I'm Itachi, and we're The Crows," he yelled out. The sweaty crowd clapped their hands appreciatively.

He was heaven sent. He wasn't talented enough to be a rock god, but was stunning enough to leave Shisui itching to get to the other room, where Itachi was heading. He squeezed himself through the crowds, eyes on the singer's long, raven hair. "Wait, man," Shisui called out, shoving an unhappy girl and her boyfriend apart before seizing Itachi's arm. "Man, you're fucking beautiful; I just wanted to tell you that."

A slow smile spread on Itachi's face. "Ah – I just screamed my heart and soul out and you want to tell me I look good?"

Taken aback, Shisui released his arm. "I didn't mean it in that way. I mean, you—"

Itachi, looking half exasperated, half amused, took a step closer to him only to stand on his toes and point to the other side of the room. "I think you want to go there," he said. "My friend's selling our records. Anyway, thanks for coming out." He gave Shisui's arm a squeeze before disappearing into the other room with his bandmates.

Dumbstruck, Shisui left the venue early, album in tow. He didn't quite understand what this Itachi character wanted, but he would gladly listen to the record – gladly fall asleep to that shaky yet firm voice.

Lying in bed, half tempted to touch himself (he never masturbated to hard rock before; he figured it was a weird thing to do), he pushed the tape into his radio and upped the volume. A low cello began; Itachi spoke vaguely about what was, literally, a bloody red and white nightmare. Turned off by the depressing start, Shisui nearly, well, turned the damn radio off.

Then the guitars kicked in, loud enough that Shisui and his cat both jumped a few inches. The music was loud yet pained, just like the growls of the lead. The tracks grew more panicked as the tape progressed, so much so that it nearly scared Shisui. It was as if something was chasing Itachi, something dark yet eerily too-bright.

The final track, which Shisui recognized as the final song of their setlist, seemed pointlessly noisy at first. With a sense of foreboding, Shisui snatched a pen and paper. He rewound the tape once the song ended, and focused hard on the masked lyrics. He put his pen down come the morning, having listened to the song so much that he could recite every riff with an air-guitar. The lyrics were there, and were, undeniably, what Itachi wanted him to know.

Despite his nighttime perseverance, Shisui would not see Itachi ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

Decided it was going to be more than a 2-shot, since I want to keep the chapters short and drabble-like. Enjoy the angst, loves.

* * *

**Sleepless**

The tape graduated from his bedroom radio to his car. Shisui never skipped a track; the album played smoothly like those lo-fi hipsters who plan everything out. He found himself mouthing the words to the final song, feeling the desperate impact of the drums mix in with his heartbeat. He'd scream the chorus while driving with the windows down on the highway. When passerbys in passing cars shot him strange looks, he'd give them the middle finger. "Haven't you people loved music before?" he yelled as an elderly man told him to shut the fuck up.

Before this, Shisui loved music as much as the next guy. He attended the living room concerts, the warehouse concerts, the music hall concerts. At first listen, the Crows were average at best, emo pretenders of Brand New, perhaps. But the urgency ripped at Shisui, made him want to tear things open, find cracks in the universe and punch holes in them. It made him want to jump into a river, gnashing his teeth and swallowing the current with a wide-open mouth.

He needed to see Itachi again, to tell him how much his music has changed him. Maybe then they could be friends of some sort. At the very least, Itachi would know that Shisui does appreciate his beautiful music and not just his beautiful face.

Shisui shot the band an email via a link on their bandcamp account. In it, he included the words he deciphered from the screams of that last song. Half wondering if Itachi read the emails and half not caring, he left a note for specifically for him, saying he wanted to meet him again. Part of him wanted to redeem himself for being shallow that past concert. Another part just wanted to spread appreciation for the album across the entirety of Konoha.

He received a quick response. Shisui, praying that the responder was Itachi himself, clicked the link and bit the skin of his palm to stave off his excitement.

_Shisui –_

_Thanks for the awesome email. We never did list the lyrics to the songs, mostly because Itachi wanted it that way. It's impressive that you've got the words to Sleepless!_

_Itachi died of a heart attack yesterday. The Crows was really Itachi's project, and we can't do it justice without him. If you're still in Konoha, we're having a memorial service – just for the friends and fans – at the following address. Feel free to come. _

_Nagato._

Blood seeped into Shisui's mouth. He hadn't realized the pain in his palm until he tasted the iron. Even then, he didn't quite mind it – his heart had just dropped six feet under.

Shisui felt like a madman in his grief. He played the tape, but stopped it when he heard Itachi's deep voice, talking about that bloody nightmare of red and white. He leapt back in front of his laptop, rereading the email, that wrenching second paragraph, to see if he had simply read wrong. After the nth time, he tossed himself onto his bed, wrangling with the sheets as if he were fending off a demon.

"_Fuck!"_ he cried into his mouth, afraid to hear his own screech, afraid to feel the tears boiling off his eyes. _"The fuck did you do to me!" _

Forgetting to go to work, he stayed in bed, shivering at the silence and wanting nothing but that scream.


	3. Chapter 3

Final chapter. The two songs referenced are Pompeii, by Bastille, and Blood Bank, by Bon Iver. Please review if you liked it, I'd love to hear feedback~

* * *

**Sleepless**

Drinks were a-plenty, though considering the occasion, cups did not overflow. Shisui knew faces, but not names, of most of the people in this smoky-basement crowd. He recognized the guitarist who answered his email, Nagato, and gave him a tightly squeezed handshake and an earnest hug. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, regretting the words once they came out. This wasn't a party. This was a memorial.

Nagato, a perceptive type, recognized Shisui's unease. "Don't worry," he said, "I think Itachi would've been glad that you came."

After saying his obligatory hello to Nagato, Shisui was left mostly alone. Everyone else seemed to know each other – everyone else probably knew Itachi personally. Early in the night Shisui contemplated leaving early, feeling as though he were an intruder at a family dinner table. But apparently there was a coffeehouse-like setlist to be played, an old video in lieu of a slideshow, and more drinks, to ease the pain. Too interested in all of the following, Shisui remained.

"Hey guys." The microphone and keyboard in the middle of the room was suddenly occupied by one who resembled Itachi greatly in body, but not in face. He was more muscular, more rough around the edges, and clearly younger. "My brother Itachi would be embarrassed to hear me cover this song, but it was a guilty pleasure of his. I know – I heard him in the shower."

A warm laugh swept through the crowd. "Itachi sang in the shower?!" howled a long-haired blue-eyed blonde, who found it hilarious.

It was a pop-rock song Shisui easily recognized once Itachi's younger brother began to sing. Girls, who were clearly friends of his, casually joined in at the chorus, encouraging the entire basement to chip in.

"_If you close your eyes," _he ended, his fingers gracefully playing the final chords of the song, _"does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?" _A blue-haired man who Shisui recognized as the drummer pitched in the final _'eh-oh's_ and everyone applauded warmheartedly.

So these were Itachi's friends. Shisui felt awkward around them, as if he was the only one mourning. Even the younger brother looked hearty and warm as a round of hugs encircled him after his song.

The night delved on. A few more people took to the microphone, amping up guitars or going acoustic. Shisui mostly stayed in his corner, fidgeting to another area if he felt stared at. He felt bitter. Not one person shed a tear, and he felt that if he did, he would be ostracized even more.

A laptop was hooked via HDMI to the television set, and suddenly Itachi was real, before him, once again. Shisui, breathless, took the glowing Itachi in – he was clearly younger, much less gaunt than the version Shisui knew. He sported an acoustic guitar like an extra arm and was grinning at the camera. His face was clear of that heavy eyeliner, and his olive skin flushed against his white shirt. This Itachi was so full of life.

And yet, once again, he selected a mournful song. His voice shook with purpose. It was not the quaver Shisui knew. _"I'm in love with your honor…I'm in love with your cheeks." _

Shisui bit his lips, tearing the membrane off as the song concluded. Itachi beamed, satisfied with his recorded performance. Before the video ended, just when Shisui thought it was time to air out the emotions, everyone once again chortled at the younger brother's surprise appearance. He, too, was younger, with a squeakier voice.

"_Now that you're done playing, nii-san, can you help me practice piano?"_

"_Sasuke! How long have you been there?"_

"_The entire time."_

The video ended and the night growing older, Shisui, somewhat disappointed with tonight's turnout, approached Nagato to politely beg his leave. "Thanks, again, but I have to go," he said.

"Wait," Nagato interrupted Shisui's dignified walk away, "I have to ask a favor. Can you scream?"

Thus, Shisui found himself at the front of The Crows, to give the performance of his life in front a room of judging strangers. The younger brother, Sasuke, looked concerned, and whispered to his blonde best friend something Shisui figured was negative. The microphone, awkward and heavy in his palm, sat like a heavy stone.

And it looked like Shisui was the first to throw.

Nagato's guitar screeched the first searing note to the last song, to Sleepless, to Itachi.

And Shisui, eyes shut tight and clutching onto the mic like a lifeline, like how he imagined Itachi clutched onto life, screamed. All too conscious of the difference between himself and Itachi, all too aware of the crowd's eyes and the crash of the drums keeping him in time, Shisui pounded his chest and bent over, screaming louder for Itachi, for that twisted God to give him back, or so be it take Shisui instead –

_Sleepless, as if I could help it.  
__Yet if I lay my head  
__Lay a feathered anvil over my eyelids  
__Smothered by an unaware death  
__Huddled against a mastectomized breast  
__If only for a couple of hours.  
__Sleepless, and in selfish want of extinction and existence.  
__I lust for Simon of Cyrene  
__I desire the delirious demon who summons tornadoes,  
__Who whisks passions to Oz,  
__To prescribe grandeur to interpret morbid, romantic literature.  
__Sleepless, the crust children have their mothers slice off.  
__Sleepless, the second wife of a polyamorous English king.  
__Sleepless, by voluntary vocation.  
__Sleepless, the apotheosis of time and tear management.  
__Sleepless_

- the mic dropped out of Shisui's hand like dirt into a grave. He fell on his knees, tasting salt, choked. This loss was almost too meaningless, damn it. Shisui didn't even _know_ him. But someone rushed to his side, hugged him, dampening his shoulder.

Perhaps in another world, Shisui would have been able to kiss Itachi's cheeks. But for now, all he had was this sleepless night, clutching onto a stranger, eyes, ribs heaving, waiting for morning.


End file.
